


Edible

by TheGreenMeridian



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Body Worship, Chubby valery, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Valery’s Ass Appreciation Society, ass worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 17:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: Boris is a man who knows what he likes. And what he likes is Valery’s chubby butt.





	Edible

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go. Courtesy of some wonderful discussions on Tumblr about Valery’s lovely chunky booty.

“I feel ridiculous, Boris, why can’t I just wear my own suit?”

“Because the cuffs are frayed, there’s a stain on the left leg of the trousers, and it doesn’t fit you. Stand still, I need to see what tie will match.”

Valery stops fiddling with his sleeves. His old suit had been slightly too short in the arm, it’s terribly disconcerting to feel the fabric this far down his hands. The trousers feel wrong too, looser around the waist than he’s used to. Granted the old ones cut into him and left awful red marks by the end of the day, but these feel as though they’re liable to fall down at any moment. Despite the overly tight braces. The elastic had long since given up in his old set but they were still useable, it seems an awful waste to get rid of them in favour of the (admittedly far nicer) ones Boris has picked out for him. He stands as still as possible, attempting to keep the fidgeting to a minimum as Boris holds up a tie to his neck and thinks for moment before shaking his head.

“Oh come on Boris, that one was fine!” he protests, shoulders slumping in irritation. “Does it really matter this much?”

“That one didn’t suit your skin tone, it made you look pasty. And yes, Valery, it does matter. Appearances matter to the men in those meetings and shuffling in dressed like a boy in school uniform he’s outgrown is sending a message to them that you’re not worthy of their respect. Is that what you want?”

He closes his eyes a moment and counts to five under his breath. “Surely my position as assistant director and my proven expertise should lend more weight to my words than what colour tie I’m wearing. Are you all really so shallow?”

“I’m not shallow Valery, I just know how to play the game.” Boris glares at him and holds up another tie, tutting and tossing it into the pile. “With all your degrees and education, that’s still a skill that escapes you so how about you shut up and listen to my proven expertise and let me find you a damn tie?”

Appropriately chagrined, Valery shifts his weight on his feet and stands a little straighter. 

“I’m sorry, Boris. I trust your judgement.”

He knows Boris is right, he knows that those powerful men do not look at him with respect, or indeed anything exceeding begrudging tolerance of his intrusion into their realm. Boris listened attentively when he’d explained the workings of a nuclear power plant, the least he can do in return is allow Boris the same courtesy. And besides, is it really such a hardship to be bought a suit and have to wear it for a while as Boris chooses a tie from his own collection?

Another of Boris’ ties is lifted to his neck, and he feels the backs of Boris’ fingers brush over his throat, the sensation shockingly intimate. He swallows, and feels his adam’s apple bob against them. It’s only the latest in a long line of reminders throughout the day of why he never should never have come to Boris’ apartment, and he doubts it will be the last. It’s not Boris’ fault, really. He doesn’t know what sort of man Valery is, he couldn’t possibly realise what sort of an effect having such a prime specimen of dignified masculinity in such close proximity would do to his distinctly opposite friend. But whether Boris realises it or not, he is the exact sort of tall, at ease with himself, well kept man that Valery has always both craved and envied.

Boris has been in his personal space almost constantly since the wardrobe update began, shifting his lapels, adjusting his buttons, standing so close behind him that his breath tickles his hair. Valery is sure he must smell of Boris’ cologne by now, though he sincerely hopes he doesn’t. The prospect of having that sharp herbal scent in his nostrils for the rest of the day is a dangerously pleasant one. A low thrum of need has been sweeping over his skin ever since Boris first handed him a suit and shooed him into his bedroom to change. How Boris had known his measurements in the first place was a complete mystery, though as Valery had stood in the tasteful surroundings of Boris’ bedroom, it had been hard not imagine Boris’ hands mapping his body and sizing him up. And now, as Boris has finally selected a tie for him, and is flipping up his collar, draping it around his neck, and standing close enough that it would only take a slight lean forward (and up onto his tiptoes) for Valery to push their lips together, he can’t stop the fantasies from flowing wildly though his mind.

“There. That looks good. Go, look in the mirror, tell me what you think.”

Boris looks proud of himself, not with the smugness that Valery would have expected but with the almost innocent look of a young boy showing off a model airplane he’d finished. As Valery takes himself in, he can almost understand why. 

“See? This style flatters your shoulders, the old one made them seem less square than they really are. Now you look broad, handsome. The colour is much better for you too. This shade of blue shows off the nice red tones in your hair, and the tie works well with both the suit and your pale skin. Emphasises it without washing you out.”

Boris is smiling at him approvingly, leaning in and brushing a non existent blemish from the sleeve of the jacket. More than that, he looks as though he actually believes what he’s saying. The suit does look better on him, even to Valery’s terribly untrained eyes, that’s true. But that his hair has ‘nice red tones’, that his shoulders are broad, that his pasty face is something to emphasise (and then there’s the word ‘handsome’)... it’s madness. Since when was Boris one to unnecessarily stroke his ego? 

“Well, what do you think? It’s not like you to hold back an opinion.”

“It’s... nice. You’re right, it’s better than my old one. Thank you, Boris. You’ve been very helpful, I appreciate it a lot. How much do I owe you for the suit?”

“Nothing, don’t be stupid. It’s a gift.”

“Really Boris, I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

He knows his voice is off as he speaks, quiet and shy and accompanied with a blush that somehow doesn’t look blotchy on his cheeks like it normally does. Maybe the lovely blue suit is helping after all. Valery can see Boris’ eyebrow quirking in the mirror as he continues to look at his reflection, not quite able to move just yet. 

“Speak to me, Valery. Do you not like it?” Boris asks. It’s clear from his face that he knows he does, but this is how Boris operates, tugging at his loose threads until Valery unravels. The man is far too good at reading him.

“Honestly, I like it. You chose well,” he replies, still trying to force his voice to a more normal volume and tone and still failing miserably.

Boris comes to stand behind him and plants his hands firmly on Valery’s shoulders. His breath is on Valery’s neck again, somehow warmer than before, and Valery knows from the view in the mirror how Boris... lines up with him. How if Boris took a half step forward, Valery would be able to feel the soft lump of Boris’ cock between his buttocks. Boris brushes his hands outwards a few times, smoothing out the shoulders of the suit jacket unnecessarily. Despite his best efforts, Valery feels himself shudder and the quirk of Boris’ eyebrow in the mirror tells him that it was noticeable. 

Boris leans in, his jaw a paper’s width from Valery’s ear. “Something wrong, Valery? You seem uncomfortable.”

“No, no I-“

“Maybe we should get that jacket off you, hmm? You’re flushed, maybe you’re overheating.”

Boris reaches around him to grasp the lapels of the suit and slides the jacket off, hangs it up, and returns to stand behind him. Valery could move, break the spell he seems to be under, but he remains rooted to the spot, unable to do anything as Boris’ hands land on his shoulders again. 

“We should get you a nice light grey too, maybe a few more ties. Stick with the white shirts though. No more off-white or yellow, they don’t suit you.” He reaches up a hand and threads it through Valery’s hair, mussing one side slightly and letting his palm skim across Valery’s ear. Again, Valery trembles. “You could use a trim, perhaps, but not too much. I like your hair this length.”

His hand smooths out Valery’s hair and releases it, though for a moment it seems as if his fingers linger at the tips. Valery is breathing shallowly, afraid that if he inhales too deeply it will shudder and reveal how on edge he is. Boris is holding his gaze in the mirror, the icy blue of his eyes boring into him through the reflection. And then he breaks, and Valery watches in disbelief as Boris’ eyes hover on his lips before tracking down his body in a slow sweep that leaves goosebumps in its path. 

“Hmm... it seems that the trousers weren’t quite as good a fit as I’d thought. They’re perfect here,” Boris says, his hands appearing on Valery’s buttocks briefly, “but not here.”

Valery yelps as one of Boris’ hands cups the erection he has failed to suppress. He flinches back and yelps again when he feels himself come into contact with Boris’ own erection. Boris grips his hips and presses himself forward, the thick line of it fitting exactly between his cheeks.

“Boris, what-“

“You think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been reacting to me all day, Valera,” he says, husky and deep. “I’ll walk away now and we can pretend nothing happened if that’s what you want, but I think it’s quite clear it’s not what I want.”

Valery can feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck, his palms. He opens eyes he hadn’t realised were closed to see Boris staring at his face with blown pupils and a tongue darting out to wet his lips. Despite fears of ruining their working relationship and their friendship, he can’t deny himself this opportunity. Maybe Chernobyl has made him reckless, but shrinking back, running away, it’s not an option.

“I want you, too. You should have said something, I never even knew you were interested in men.”

“In men, yes. But in you, specifically. You know, even in that awful suit I first saw you in, I could see how good you’d look out of it.”

“You don’t have to flatter me Boris, I know what I look like.”

Boris chuckles and nips at his earlobe. “I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t choose to wear such awful suits. You’d show yourself off like I want you to.”

Of course, Valery has no response to that. Not least because Boris is nuzzling behind his ear and adjusting his hips to further press himself between his buttocks.

“How about we get those trousers off you, hmm? I wouldn’t want them to get... messy.”

Valery nods and Boris’ hands leave his hips to brush the braces from his shoulders. Next, they trail down his chest, thumbs brushing over peaked nipples through his shirt before reaching the top button of his trousers. Instinctively, Valery sucks in his stomach. Boris laughs, rich and warm.

“Stop that. I told you, I like your body.”

There’s no point arguing. Valery knows that tone of voice. It’s also evident by the way Boris rubs his hands over Valery’s stomach and groans into his neck as he has to press into the excess flesh to manoeuvre the button open that Boris does indeed get some sort of strange enjoyment from Valery’s body. The trousers fall, bunching around his thighs until Boris nudges his feet apart slightly to give them room to drop to the floor.

“Step out of them, I’ll hang them up. Get the shorts off. And stay there while I take off my own trousers, I like getting to see you while I touch you.”

It is difficult not to shiver in Boris’ absence. Not that the room is cold, in fact the temperature is quite pleasant, but the anticipation of being touched and being seen is creeping up on him. He winces when he sees the sizeable wet pitch glistening at the tip of his erection. Boris hasn’t even touched him yet, not really, and there’s something distinctly humiliating about how obviously aroused he is. He’s a grown man for god’s sake. Even taking the shorts off, the elastic waistband pulling his erection down until it snaps back up to his gut, is overstimulating in the extreme.

“Oh fuck...”

The whispered curse is impossible to suppress as he feels Boris settle behind him again, as bare from the waist down as he is himself. He desperately wants Boris to touch him, to bring him some relief from the tension that has building within him all day. But he’s denied when Boris cups his buttocks and squeezes instead.

“Mmm, even better out of clothing. You have such a beautiful arse, Valery. Thick, plump... so generously proportioned. I can barely fit my hands around these perfect big cheeks.”

Boris sounds positively feral as he pulls Valery’s buttocks apart and nestles himself between, and the moan he makes when he pushes them together around himself is the sort of sound Valery never could have imagined was one he could elicit from another. He feels the firm flesh of Boris’ erection, and realises with a start that Boris too is slick with anticipation for more.

Cock still between Valery’s cheeks, Boris reaches and unbuttons Valery’s crisp new shirt, gradually revealing his pale, flabby body to the mirror. Boris steps away only briefly to hang the shirt with the rest of the suit, returning behind him and turning him on the spot. Boris takes a step back to better view his body, and Valery closes his eyes in shame as he feels the blush making it’s way down his chest.

“Oh fuck, you are perfect,” Boris murmurs.

“I’m fat. You really don’t need to keep saying things like this.”

“You’re chubby, yes. And perfect.”

There’s no time to formulate a response as Boris pulls him into their first kiss. It’s electric. His cock is brushing against the muscles of Boris’ hip, Boris’ own is pressing into the fat of his belly, and Boris’ tongue is licking into his mouth and making him dizzy. There are far too many sensations going on at once. Boris’ hands are gripping his buttocks, massaging them, pulling them apart and pushing them together, feeling the heft of them and sinking into fat and muscle with blunt fingers.

“You’re hairy,” Boris says approvingly, and for a moment, Valery is baffled. His chest is decidedly lacking in any sort of adornment, beyond a smattering of lonely blond hairs. And then it hits him. Boris is talking about his arse. Understanding must show on his face because Boris smiles and kisses him again and strokes his buttocks. “Furry. Soft. Beautiful.”

“Oh. I never liked it myself. I always wanted more chest hair too.”

“Well, I like it. And I like your chest too, if you were hairier, I wouldn’t be able to see the freckles as well.”

“I never particularly liked them, either. Boris, I know I’m nothing special. You really don’t have to keep complimenting me. I don’t need persuading, I want this.”

There’s a sad look on Boris’ face that makes Valery tense. It’s insulting, being pitied. He might not be happy with how he looks but neither is he depressed about it. He simply accepts it. There’s no need for Boris to treat him like some sad housewife afraid to be seen without makeup.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me Boris.”

“Well tough shit, I’m going to.” Boris bends to kiss the densest area of freckles on his shoulder. “I’m sorry nobody’s ever made you feel attractive before.” Another kiss, to his acne-scarred cheek. “I’m sorry you don’t realise how gorgeous you are.” And a final kiss to his lips, a tender brush of lips lacking in demands. “But I’m not sorry that I get to show you how amazing you are. Now get on the bed. I want to explore you.”

Valery lets himself be lead to the bed and tries not to moan as he gets his first proper look at Boris’ body as the man strips himself of his shirt. His chest is covered in salt-and-pepper hairs, as is his belly. There’s a slight paunch, likely unavoidable with age, but with his height and the confident way he stands, it merely adds to the unbearable masculinity of his frame. 

“You enjoying yourself there Valera?”

“You’re stunning. I’ve wanted you for a long time, I can’t quite believe you’re in front of me like this.”

Boris’ face shines with a confident grin as he gives himself a few strokes, and Valery can no longer stop himself from moaning. Boris is beautiful, truly beautiful, and the sight of him pleasuring himself like this, eyes roving over Valery’s body as he does so, is quite possibly going to kill him.

Boris climbs on the bed and kneels beside him. He reaches out and squeezes one of Valery’s pecs, thumb brushing his nipple. There’s excess flesh there, as there is on the rest of his body, though here especially it’s a sore subject for Valery. Boris however is moaning and staring at the way his fingers sink into the layer of fat.

“Boris... why do you like my body so much?” Valery asks. 

Boris releases his chest. “You don’t believe that I do?”

“I just wonder if perhaps you prefer women.”

“Why? Because I like touching you here?” Boris asks, squeezing Valery’s chest again. “Valera, you’re not the first man I’ve been with, this isn’t new to me. You have a man’s body, and I like touching it. You’re soft, there’s lots of you for me to squeeze and grab. Is it really so hard for you to believe that I want you exactly as you are, because of how you are?”

He looks so earnest, that schoolboy innocence on his face again despite his nudity. Valery can’t help but believe him. For the first time that day, he takes the initiative and pulls Boris down for a kiss. It’s softer this time, tender emotions fuelling it rather than sexual need. And it’s magical. So hard had it been to believe Boris wanted him physically, it hadn’t even occurred to him to question if Boris returned his romantic feelings too. Though the way Boris is holding his face with one large hand and slipping the other around his waist, he could perhaps believe that he does.

“Valera, nobody’s ever touched you like this, have they?”

“No. I mean, I’ve had sex, of course I have, but not like this. Nudity has never been a feature of that part of my life. I imagine the only attraction between myself and former partners has been purely that we were both men and both capable of being discreet.”

“You deserve so much more, Valera. Let me show you how desirable I find you.”

Boris moves to latch his lips around one of Valery’s nipples, holding it firm between his teeth as he suckles and teases at it with his tongue. It’s a sensation Valery has never felt before and it sends shockwaves through his body that have his eyes rolling back in his head and his erection rapidly returning to a painful hardness. He chokes back a moan, a strangled sound of overstimulation escaping instead.

“Don’t hold back, Valera. There’s no need to be discreet with me. I want to hear you.”

He expects Boris’ lips around his nipple again, so he’s surprised when Boris instead takes him by the hips and grips him tightly.

“See, another part of you not to be insecure about. Another part of you that feels wonderful in my hands.”

Valery is certain he must be flushed beet red by now, the discomfort of being scrutinised and complimented warring with the enjoyment of Boris’ hunger for him is sending blood rushing to his face. Boris moves to squeeze at his flabby stomach, bends his head to press his face to it.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” Boris says, growling it against Valery’s skin. “So soft. Pillowy, even. You’re beautiful, Valera. I’ve always thought so, even when we didn’t get along.”

He’s fat, he knows he’s fat. Not incredibly, but he grazes throughout the day on biscuits and his job and his hobbies are sedentary. So naturally, he carries a few extra kilos. On top of it, he’s pale. White and pasty, covered in freckles that have been a source of shame since he was a child. But Boris is kissing his way across his rounded stomach, licking at the lines left from where rolls form when he’s sitting, and Boris’ hands are caressing his lumps and curves. And all of this is happening while Boris is moaning and muttering words like ‘beautiful’, ‘delicious’ and ‘mine’. The man is hungry for him. It’s undeniable. And it’s exhilarating.

Boris pulls his glasses from his face and puts them on the bedside table. “Roll over, love. I want a good look at your arse.”

Valery obeys, and Boris grabs his hips again to pull him up to his knees. “I feel ridiculous, Boris.”

“You said that about the suit. And you agreed I had good taste, hmm? So trust me now when I say how utterly delicious you look like this.”

He does trust him. How could he not, with that undercurrent of desire in his voice and the reverent way his hands are stroking and squeezing him. And Valery wants to hear more.

“Tell me. I want to know. Describe me.”

“Fuck, it’ll be my pleasure. Believe me,” Boris growls. “Your arse is magnificent. So round, especially like this. Perfectly chubby and plump, so inviting. I’ve thought about biting it, just sinking my teeth into all of this wonderful flesh and feeling you squirm beneath me. And now I know about this blanket of silky blond hair, I want to feel it on my lips, my tongue. Would you let me, Valera?”

He hisses out a yes, and feels Boris breath on his skin, the hairs moving with each ragged exhale. The anticipation is exquisite, and he whines. Boris closes the final millimetres and brushes his lips over Valery’s skin, inhaling deeply and licking gently at the skin. It’s such a gentle, tender moment. Boris is kneeling, prostrate before the altar of his body, worshiping him with a reverence that Valery can feel deep in his blood. When the dull pain of teeth comes, it only enhances the experience. Boris moans softly into the meat of him, and as his teeth release, his hands slowly spread Valery’s buttocks until Valery knows that the most intimate, unseen part of him is in full view. It should be mortifying. But somehow, it isn’t. Somehow, he’s glad to have Boris looking at him like this. 

“Mmm, beautiful, Valera. So beautiful, everywhere. You’ve got darker hair here, between these wonderful handfuls of you. And this rosebud, all tight and such a sweet dark pink. Have you been touched here before, my love?”

“No,” Valery says, shivering under Boris’ gaze. “Never. I’ve done... other things, but not this. I’ve never trusted or wanted anyone enough.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” It takes no deliberation. It’s Boris, of course he trusts him. And this is something he’s dreamed of, fantasised over his whole life. Imagined every time he’s been on his knees in front of other men.

“Mmm, I’m going to make you feel amazing, Valera.”

Breath is back against his skin, hot and humid. He thinks to ask what Boris is doing a second before he feels a tongue swiping across his entrance.

“Ah! Boris, wha-“

“Hush, love. Let me do this.”

The tongue returns, the tip of it tracing around the ridges and valleys of thin skin around the entrance to his body. His legs tremble until they collapse beneath him and Boris gives him respite only long enough to pull him back to his knees again. Boris is back immediately, this time sucking around his hole. It’s unbearable in the most wonderful way, blood rushing to an already sensitive area and making him gasp and keen and beg. The sound of it is obscene, slick and wet, so unlike the muffled sounds of hidden blowjobs with men he’ll never see again. Part of him is rebelling against it, disgusted with the act itself, with the shameless way Boris is buried in his crease and enthusiastically licking at him. But another part, a more primal part that is used to being rarely acknowledged and barely sated when it is, demands more. He pushes back against Boris’ face, and Boris pauses to swear before plunging his tongue inside him. The sensation is indescribable. He’s sure he’s crying into the pillow now, the pleasure is too intense, and his balls feel bruised with need. It’s the only other thing he can feel apart from the wicked movements of Boris’ tongue and the dull throb of his cock. He can’t even feel where he’s making contact with the bed anymore.

“Boris! Oh god, fuck, I need- Ah! Fuck, please. Please!”

He’s incoherent with the frantic need to come, he’s never felt so desperate in his life. The day’s tensions, Boris in his personal space, the slow exploration of his body: it’s all been leading to this moment. It’s going to kill him, he thinks, as Boris wriggles his tongue. Or perhaps he’s already dead. Though if he’s in heaven or hell is hard to say.

“Boris!” he sobs again. “I need to come, I- oh god please! Too much, it’s too much, I can’t take it!”

Boris’ mouth finally leaves him, though it remains close enough that his breath is stimulating the wet skin. “Oh, my Valera. I can give you want you need, my love. Just stay there for me, just like this.”

One of Boris’ thick fingers rubs around the slackened rim of his hole and Valery bucks, feeling his muscles clenching as though seeking something to grasp. He feels empty, somehow. It’s impossible to comprehend, especially in his weakened state, until Boris pushes a finger into him and he understands what his body was missing.

“Mmm, you do want this, don’t you? I wish you could see how readily your body accepts this. Your tight little rosebud all licked out and fluttering around my finger, I’ve never seen anything so sexy. I want to watch you swallow up my cock. Such a greedy little hole demanding everything I can give it.”

A pause while Boris very audibly licks his fingers, and then two of them are pushing into him, slowly fucking him open. He spasms around them intermittently, each time making his virgin muscles burn and ache at the unfamiliar stretch, and it’s so good he knows for certain that one tug of his cock would be all it takes to have him coming hard. But Boris doesn’t touch him, simply continues plunging his fingers into him with occasional twists.

“Hold on,” Boris whispers, and before Valery can respond, Boris crooks his fingers and presses hard into his inner walls, squeezing some part of him that makes him howl.

“Yes, that’s it my love, I’ve got you.” 

Boris’ fingertips begin moving in him, little firm circles massaging his prostate. Valery squirms and bucks, both chasing and avoiding the intensity of it. But there’s a hand on his hip again, squeezing his flesh and holding him steady, so all he can do is whimper and whine and beg as a swell of need gathers like a storm, his prostate feeling positively swollen within him with unspent release. His cock is dripping on Boris’ bed, thick beads of slick oozing from the tip as Boris continues to push him somehow further and further beyond the point he would usually have climaxed.

“I want to see you come like this,” Boris says, voice betraying how close to losing control he is.

“Please... please, anything,” Valery panted.

Boris’ fingers left him and he whined at the loss of sensation and the awful emptiness it left behind. He could hear Boris moving, felt him lean over and grab something from the drawer next to the bed. Some soft huffs of breath and a wet slick sound, followed by something thick and blunt pressing at his hole.

“Ready, beautiful? I can feel you twitching, trying to take me in already. Fuck Valera, say you’re ready. I need you.” 

“Oh god, please...”

With a soft push forward, the swollen head of Boris’ erection slips past his muscles. The burn of the stretch is almost unbearable. Two of Boris’ fingers, sizeable though they were, had not been ample preparation for the thick length now slowly spearing into him and splitting him open. He groans, feeling Boris sink deeper into his body.

“Fuck, Valera... you’re so fucking tight.” Boris grabs his buttocks and squeezes, groaning and twitching inside him. “So beautiful love, so good at taking me.”

With a small whimper, Valery feels himself spasm around Boris as his body struggles to adjust to the feeling of being so full. Boris is deep, deeper than he though possible, nestled in the absolute depths of him. He feels the hands on his arse move to his hips, and Boris slowly draws back before pushing forward again. The sensation of his body being opened over and over is so unusual, so different from how he had imagined it would be, yet even the pain around his entrance is making his cock twitch and drip with need. To be so full, so claimed by another man, giving his body over to the use of Boris... it’s all he ever wants to feel. 

“Feel me inside you? Feel how deep I am? God how I’ve wanted you. Seeing you– oh christ– seeing you bent over tables while we’ve been working, those army trousers stretched tight over this perfect arse, it’s been torture.”

Boris keeps fucking him, slow and deep, the wide head of him pressing into Valery’s prostate with every stroke. The discomfort of his muscles is far too arousing, the constant stimulation of that bulging bundle of nerves within is making him pant and moan, but above all it’s the way Boris is squeezing his hips and flexing his fingers that’s really doing him in. Boris’ love of his body, more specifically of all the parts he finds least attractive about himself, is making him feel so utterly loved and treasured that he could cry.

“I wish you could see how your arse looks right now, squashing against me and jiggling. You’re exquisite. So soft, everywhere. I love you, god I love you. I need to come in you, will you let me?”

“Oh yes, fuck, I’m almost... please Boris...”

Boris leans over and sinks his teeth into Valery’s upper back, and his long thrusts turn into an agonisingly slow grind against his prostate. He can feel the hot snorts of breath coming from Boris with every snap of his hips, the man sounds animalistic, but the tender way his hands are stroking down Valery’s sides and dipping under to caress the plush flesh of his stomach belies the truth that this is not just sex, it’s making love. Perhaps it’s foolish to trust confessions made in the heat of the moment, with hormones and arousal addling their brains, but he does trust it. He trusts the way Boris is straining against him and whispering adoration between bites. He trusts the husky whimpers every time Boris squeezes some excess part of him. And he trusts the roiling torment in his own belly, building despite his cock hanging untouched between his legs. His face is tingling, his feet, his back. A strange sort of clarity settles around him, like what he imagines one must feel in the instant before death, and he knows he’s going to come from Boris’ movements inside him. It’s inevitable.

“Valera, oh fuck, I’m gonna come in you. Fill you up. You’re mine, you’re mine, fuck, I-“

A loud, rumbling groan combines with the swell of Boris’ cock against his walls, and he feels himself go tumbling down too. He cries out, clenching around Boris and pushing back to fuck himself through his orgasm as he finally empties in thick, hot pulses that never seem to end. The relief washes over him in waves, he swears he can feel an ache in his balls from the force of it, and he can feel the dull throb of his prostate, still pressed against Boris’ length. It’s harder than he’s ever come, furtive masturbation and quick hand jobs no longer seem like anything at all by comparison. 

Distantly, he’s aware of Boris pulling out of him. It’s an odd sensation, his muscles are still slack from the stretch and he feels empty. He feels fingers skittering over his well-used hole and moans.

“Shh, stay still Valera. Let me make sure I haven’t hurt you. You’re swollen here, you look so... open. And fuck, my come’s leaking out of you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sexy.”

He hums as he feels Boris massage his rim, the worst of the ache slowly dissipating and leaving behind a nice thrum of sensation. It’s lovely, the way Boris is caring for him in the aftermath of their passion. Valery feels safe, loved. Boris kisses both his buttocks and Valery shivers in response, slightly too over sensitive to cope with chapped lips scraping his skin. He wants to lay down now, to sleep with Boris’ arms around him, and he hopes that the soothing afterglow isn’t deluding him into thinking it’s a possibility.

“Boris, I need to ask you something,” he says, easing his weight off his knees and rolling onto his back. “When we were... you said you loved me. I want to believe you meant it, but I understand if you didn’t.”

“I did. I have done for a while.” Boris lays beside him and tugs at him until he acquiesces and rests his head on Boris’ chest. “You’re so stubborn. You drove me mad when I first met you. Some upstart scientist thinking he could boss me around, thinking he could boss Gorbachev around. Sure, you were gorgeous but that didn’t stop me wanting to strangle you.”

Boris laughs, and Valery can hear it deep in Boris’ chest. Such a joyful sound, so free.

“You’re mad, you realise that? You look the way you do and you’re attracted to me. Utterly mad.”

“It’s a madness I’m comfortable with, Valera. What can I say, I’ve always liked people with a little bit of softness about them. I like the feel of it. And you carry it well, you know, especially when you dress properly. Though even in those damn army fatigues you look... edible.”

It’s Valery’s turn to laugh now, not out of self deprecation but at the sound of his stoic, brick-wall Ukrainian calling him ‘edible’ of all things. Boris joins in, and Valery enjoys the way the two sounds compliment each other. 

“So the suit... was it a ruse to get me here and what, flirt with me?”

“Partially. I’d seen you looking at me when you thought I wasn’t looking, I knew I could have you and this seemed like an excellent opportunity. But mainly, I got you the suit because I despise your old one.”

He’s sore, he’s leaking come all over Boris’ tasteful bedsheets and laying in his own, and his joints hurt from being bent over. His hips will have bruises from Boris’ fierce grip and he will be very surprised if his arse doesn’t also end up covered in them too. And tomorrow he has to sit in a room in front of the General Secretary, the leader of the KGB, and the other men who hold the power in the Soviet Union.

Valery chuckles and nuzzles into Boris’ chest hair, draping an arm across him. Hopefully the new suit will distract from any limping or sitting awkwardly.

**Author's Note:**

> thegreenmeridian.tumblr.com


End file.
